Lost and Found

Lost and Found

What’s that? A slanted floor, secret,
A private musing that wrecks neglect,
That ravels loss, bounced on the beat
Morning glories of laughing alarms,
Cricked in the cold neck of nightmare
Facings, scurried out of knowledge
With rueful puns, ironies of an iron yard,
Another deafened nearness of the signs,
Clatter up the window where, yes,
A bridge shines blue and gold till midnight
And zodiacs dance faster after dawn,
Bursting into worklight and staggered men
And talk of drug gun fire in the east,
no, not the sun, just drunks reeling
As their blood reels, as the blurt name reels
Through a hunk bellied aslant in another
Silent onslaught ravage of a passion.